Waiting for Ripper
by Katarin MoonStar
Summary: Ethan's waiting for me, he's been waiting for a while and instead of punishing him for it, I finally give him an answer", RipperEthan (Slash)


Title: Waiting for Ripper  
  
Fandom: BtVS  
  
Pairing: Ethan/Giles  
  
Rating: R for language and slightly hazy (and occasionally rough) sex  
  
Warnings: slash alert, also mentions of recreational drug use and consensual rough sexual play  
  
Notes: This is set back in the Ripper days of Gile's youth and might contradict some things in the show. I saw Band Candy again the other day and was hit by inspiration.  
  
Waiting for Ripper  
There are dirty dishes in the sink, and at some point I'll ask myself why Ethan and I only ever keep the ritual bowls clean. I'll sit down and discuss with Ethan why it's important to posses cleaning skills beyond Anathema purification, wet rags across the chest and needle sterilization. In the mean time though, I accept that Ethan and I are still very young and it's okay that he doesn't clean, he has so many other talents. And if I asked him, he'd practice those talents on me while I'm doing the housekeeping. I've never understood his compulsion to please me, but I'll live with it.  
He's in the living room, I know this without having to feel for his scent, his whiff of magical energy, like ozone and absinthe. I can tell where he is because the flat isn't very large, the kitchen is off the hall and the bedroom is on the other side, I didn't see him so he has to be through that ridiculous curtain Ethan put up over the entryway into the living room. He saw it in a shop window one day, and absolutely had to have it. This of course meant that I had to distract the shopkeeper while he ripped it down and tucked it into his coat. I had to listen to him go on about how perfect it was for hours. He was still talking about it when we did the shopping later on. Knicking all the dry food items, buying about 20 quid worth of groceries and leaving the store with enough food for at least 2 weeks.  
"It's perfect Ripper, that so-called demon on it is Chaos, plain and simple. To think it was hanging up in that horrible shop. I don't suppose that git even knew what he had." He said it all with the air of both superiority and extreme excitement. It didn't matter to me, we hung it up and he asked me to fuck him in the hallway. He laid on his stomach, facing the curtain, facing Chaos, and kept asking for "More Ripper, Harder, oh oh, there, just there, deeper, yes, god damnit Ripper fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!" I willingly obliged of course, and when we were both spent, Ethan mixed our seed and placed it on the lentils over the curtain. It was an offering, to Chaos, one we made every month after getting it. Ritualistic fucking and I wasn't about to complain, because those were the only times I never felt the tiniest bit guilty if Ethan walked strange the next day, or if the seed he collected from me, out of his hole, was tinged a bit red with his blood. Ethan didn't care, he seemed to enjoy it, so I let myself enjoy it as well.  
It's not time to offer up our gift to Chaos, but it was obvious that fucking was going to happen. I walk into the living room, and Ethan is lying on his stomach on the couch, reading a tome on Summerian transfiguration, naked. He looks up at me when I walk in, and gives me a seductive smile. He's having me on, deliberately trying to beguile me into seduction. I'm not biting. Instead I pick up the little jar of ink in the corner and pull out a brush. Ethan sees me and nods his ascent, as if it matters. I begin to paint characters onto his skin. At first it's just random letters in ancient languages. Dirty words, painted onto a dirty boy (I like that and paint that on there in Latin), then I move onto a lust inducing spell. It doesn't take long and before I'm finished, Ethan is begging for it. I blow on the ink, trying to dry it, and let my tongue whisper down his back, on all the unmarked parts. He gasps and arches as my tongue reaches his cleft and continues down.  
I reach under the cushions of the couch and come out with a bottle of lube (maybe Ethan's housekeeping shortcomings are a good thing). I quickly apply it to him and get into position. He grunts at the first thrust, and I don't give him a chance to acclimate to me. I slam in, over and over again, Ethan's crying (he usually is when we do it this way) but he's also moaning his ascent. He's asking for more in that gorgeous way he has while he's in the moment. "Yeah Ripper, like that, god your so deep, more, more, please deeper Ripper." All while making the sweetest little whimpers and sighs, and of course, the tears. We both call out our climax and he turns around when I pull out. He looks up at me and pulls me close. I kiss the tear tracks on his face and lick at his eyelashes, his tears are just as salty as his seed, but without the vaguely sweet taste. He pulls my mouth down into a kiss, and it's almost more erotic than the sex, kissing like this. It hits me then, that Ethan knows me, really knows me and he's waiting for something, been waiting for something.  
I think back on the dishes and how they aren't done and how I was going to give Ethan a dressing down, and ask why? When Ethan draws on me with the ink, he writes soft, beautiful words of love and possession, and he draws protection and binding spells on my flesh, and he does this because I haven't let him do it on my soul. I make Ethan cry when I notice how much I'm feeling, and he just takes it. He takes it and asks for more because I'm laying him on his back on the couch and entering him again and he's letting me. Slowly this time, with so much more care and he seems to notice the difference right away. I lift his legs and put them around my waist, it's an unspoken statement that this time it's going to last for a while. I thrust a few times and begin to work him back to hardness. I let myself still for a moment and look around the room. The end table has his chopping mirror and my heroin spoon, a pack of cigarettes and a few hypodermic syringes. The coffee table is full of magic books and ritual supplies. There are tickets from concerts and empty bottles of scotch and absinthe on the floor and right there on the carpet underneath us is the ink and brush. I can feel Ethan caressing my shoulder in the exact spot where I broke it in a motorcycle accident (Ethan thought it was an excellent idea to give me a hand job on the M5). I pick up the ink and dip the brush in. Ethan's waiting for me, he's been waiting for a while and instead of punishing him for it, I finally give him an answer to his unspoken declarations. I swiftly paint a binding spell over Ethan's heart in the ink and lean over to whisper in his ear. "I love you Ethan," I tell him and begin moving again. It's slow and gorgeous and it's the first time we've ever made love, the first time I've ever made love period. There are dirty dishes in the sink, the ritual bowls are always clean, the flat's a mess and I'm in love with Ethan Rayne. There are worse things. 


End file.
